


Coming Forth // Coming Out

by mmmelmoth



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aroace Sherlock, Asexuality, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Friendship goals, Gen, Holmes Brothers, Hurt/Comfort, I love all of them this is why I wrote it, Internalized Acephobia, LGBTQ Themes, Mycroft is sort of the bad guy here for a while but I love him I promise, One (1) Bad Pun and I'm Proud Of It, Overthinking, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Some ace pride, Wholesomeness, cause there can never be enough of that, positivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmelmoth/pseuds/mmmelmoth
Summary: Everyone's favourite genius consulting detective is closeted, but he plans to do something about it.





	Coming Forth // Coming Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oceantears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceantears/gifts).



It always seemed to him like the world needed to know you before it could respect you, and there’d never been a stage in his life where he’d felt the need to hide himself away. He’d always been out there, a personality so thick Scotland Yard could see it from four blocks away, and sometimes the line between pride and narcissism had grown invisibly thin. Fine, he’d stepped over it gladly, but he wasn’t going to start feeling self-conscious now. There was no reason to, with his mind that shone brighter than any other in his generation, with his angular face and gorgeous curls, though these were petty and unimportant criteria. All of this potential he bled out into the world, which couldn’t help but respect him now, and yet there was this part of him he’d never talked about. For the simple childish reason that he’d never heard anyone else talk about it. People couldn’t follow his words often enough, and maybe he was afraid that this chunk of his identity would divide him and the few people he cared for through confusion. But being out there (being out) was worth the risk, wasn’t it? He never felt the need to hide his brain, his face, so why hide this? It was just as much a part of him. And it had been a long time since he figured it out. Finding the right words comes with such a satisfaction, yet he could only imagine what it would do if he publicly wore that on his sleeve. People never noticed purple shirts, little pins stuck to his lapel. But if he told them? He almost felt like he owed it to himself to reveal all of who he was, to get rid of wrong expectations by proudly coming forth. Coming out.

 

“I’m bisexual.” John announced. They were sitting down in Speedy’s café like any other Thursday evening and Sherlock calmly put down his teacup.

“That’s fine,” He replied to ease the worry in his best friend’s stare, then he asked: “How did you know?”

“I’ve been oblivious for a really long time. But I’ve found the label and it fits. I’m no different from who I was before, though.” John added, slight distress rising up in him again.

“There’s no need for you to tell me that. Of course you are.” Sherlock was possibly tenser than his friend, even though he didn’t show it. Wasn’t this the perfect opportunity to rise up and shout _me too I’m queer_?

“I’m glad that’s how you see it. A lot of people wouldn’t agree.”

“Fuck them.” Sherlock promptly answered, and John’s face lit up with relief. Both of them smiled. Well, this had been easy, hadn’t it? But the moment had passed and with it the opportunity to let John know there was someone else like him, not exactly like him, but different like him.

 

Glasses clinked. His mother was busy serving more champagne to all the assembled relatives, who disharmoniously started singing “Happy Birthday.” When Mycroft, the celebrated birthday boy, finally got around to touch glasses with his little brother, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Eh, you know what they say!” Mycroft scolded playfully, and Sherlock cocked an eyebrow: “What do they say?” “If you don’t keep eye contact while touching glasses, it means you’ll have bad sex for the next half a dozen years.”

Sherlock deliberately looked over Mycroft’s shoulder while bringing their champagne glasses together. “Good thing I don’t care.” He replied and readied himself to move to the other side of the room to let his brother get on with being congratulated by everyone.

“You don’t mean that.” Mycroft stated in a way that made Sherlock stop and turn. It was like his brother was purposely pushing him over the edge by adding: “You probably just haven’t found the right person yet.”

“No, Mycroft. I’m asexual, go and look it up. Aromantic, too.” Sherlock brushed past him, careful not to spill his untouched champagne, he only barely heard Mycroft muttering after him: “No, you’re not!” He froze at the sheer audacity. There was no point in spoiling this party by arguing with his brother about his own sexual identity, a topic that in fact wasn’t to be argued about because it was his alone to be determined. How hard could it be to meet someone with respect? And the final words, the _No, you’re not_ stung harder than Sherlock had thought possible. It had taken years for him to get to the point of speaking these words, and in return he received ignorance under the arrogant pretense of knowing better. For the rest of the birthday party he did the best he could in order not to feel broken.

 

He refused to let his brother’s ignorance rob him of any sleep that night, so he drugged himself until it was impossible to stay awake. The next morning he woke up feeling groggy, and he skipped Sunday family breakfast for the sole purpose of avoiding Mycroft – which wasn’t even particularly petty for his standards. He’d stormed out before for less. His parents would understand, well maybe not _understand_ as such, but they’d long ago accepted that their sons functioned in different ways. Hands inside his coat’s pockets, he waited outside of John’s apartment until his friend stepped out of the door, taking out some trash bags. “Walk with me?” Sherlock asked, attempting a weak smile.

John relaxed. “You almost startled me.”

“Only almost?”

“Oh, come on. I’ve been around you long enough, I wouldn’t be surprised if you jumped out from under my bed. Or out of the fridge.” _Or out of the closet?_ “Let me just get my jacket.” With a twinkle in his eyes, John disappeared back inside, but it wasn’t yet time for Sherlock to feel relieved.

 

“People who think they’re smart are such a joke, aren’t they?” They walked along the Thames, cold wind blowing into their faces.

“Sherlock, you think you’re smart.”

“Of course I do. I’m not wrong. But everybody’s amygdala reacts the same way to new information, and smart people have to be pricks about it because they’re not used to the sensation.”

A smile played around John’s lips. “Do you want to discuss human temporal lobes with me, or is there something else you’re trying to get at?” He knew it was the latter, and no one alive knew better how to help Sherlock Holmes get to the point than John Watson.

“At Mycroft’s birthday party I told him I’m asexual.” Both of them stopped and John turned to look at his friend, the remnants of a smile still on his lips. “You don’t look puzzled or surprised. Do I need to explain the terminology?” Sherlock observed, feeling a lot less uneasy than the first time he’d told someone. Still a little queasy, though.

“No, I know what it means” John hurried to answer, knowing the tenseness of coming out all too well himself since recently, “I’m just thinking, it makes sense. It makes so much sense. Of course you are, and I should’ve seen it right away.”

“You should?” The words plopped out of Sherlock’s mouth before he could stop them, and he felt childishly helpless. He didn’t want to wait for an answer, so he added in a still slightly shaky voice: “I’m aromantic, too.”

“That means we have to rename our apartment to 221 _Bi-and-aroace_ Baker Street. Sounds cool.” When Sherlock barely reacted to John’s invention, the blond dug deeper: “What did Mycroft say?”

Sherlock was standing tall, oozing out as much dignity and confidence as always. But he had never felt as small as when he admitted: “He told me I was not. And the conversation was over.”

John swore under his breath. And then, without hesitating, he pulled Sherlock into a hug. It was a little bumpy at first due to the height difference, but Sherlock finally relaxed and even briefly closed his arms back around John. “Let’s sit down. Come on.” John let them to a bench facing the river, and Sherlock followed. He still felt foolishly vulnerable.

“First of all,” It took more self-control than John knew he possessed not to explode out of anger, but he kept his voice gentle, “your sexual and romantic orientation is nothing to be discussed. You told him, you told me, and it’s up to neither of us to doubt or change that.”

“I know.” Sherlock sounded much stronger than he felt, and he was glad for it.

“Second of all, you’re brave for telling who you are, and everyone ought to respect that. Even geniuses on their birthday.” When Sherlock tried to interrupt because brave seemed like such a dramatic word for a rather trivial conversation John simply continued: “Remember what you said about the people who wouldn’t see me the same after coming out?”

“Fuck them.” Sherlock murmured, his heart beating.

“Bloody right, fuck them!” John agreed enthusiastically. And of course he was right. This was exactly what Sherlock had needed to hear from someone else. “You want to get Chinese? It’s on me.” The blond offered. Shrugging, Sherlock stood up and they made their way downtown. But John knew it wasn’t as simple as that – coming out, getting encouragement and moving on. Mycroft, although he and Sherlock had never been on what one could call friendly terms, was one of Sherlock’s closest relationships, by blood and history. He’d looked up to him at first, then worked hard to have reasons to look down on him, and the disrespect of such a conflicting figure in his life wasn’t the sort of blow that would disappear after eating Chinese takeout with a good friend.

 

Monday morning, Mycroft was sitting comfortably in a café next to Savile Row, and he didn’t even look up while saying “I’m sorry, that seat is taken” when someone sat down facing him.

“It is now.” John Watson replied coldly.

“John.” Recognising his voice, Mycroft looked up from his laptop, “What are you doing here?”

“I’d just like to have a brief chat.” Folding his hands, John looked at Mycroft intently.

“Is this about Sherlock avoiding me? We’ve been there before, sometimes twice a month. It always returns back to normal sooner or later, there’s no reason for you to interfere.” Mycroft closed the lid of his laptop and gave his brother’s best friend a polite smile.

John’s expression stayed iron. “I know about your little feuds, but this time it’s different. You can’t deny someone their identity.”

“Deny someone their – don’t you think that’s a little too radical? Sherlock came across a term he believes that makes him even more of a special snowflake, so of course he’s clinging to it. His ridiculous charades will never end unless someone points them out. You’ll be thanking me.”

Underneath the table, John’s fists were clenched. “Do you realise what you’re saying?” “Yes.” Mycroft answered, but John wasn’t finished. “You assume you know Sherlock better than he knows himself, and you just hand down a judgement that is not even remotely yours to make! Which is conceited at best, but in this case nothing but harmful.”

Everything about Mycroft told John he’d stopped listening at the word _conceited_. “I know you mean well, John. You care so much. But you’re making this bigger than it is. So I suggest you have a cup of tea, relax a little and save those big words for another occasion.”

John was a hair’s breadth away from leaning across the table to strangle Mycroft Holmes right where he was seated. Not because of his audacity and patronising comments towards his own person, but because – how hard could it be to understand the point John was trying to bring across? “I’ll make a suggestion too, and then I’m out of here. What you said really hurt Sherlock, even though he’d never admit it. How about you give his _charades_ a chance? All he was trying to do was to reveal a truth about himself to a close family member. It has nothing to do with special snowflakes or seeking attention. Could you think about that?”

For a second, they just stared at each other. Mycroft felt threatened, and he didn’t like it. John was relieved and maybe a little proud that he’d been able to keep his cool, because if he hadn’t, his words would be worth nothing.

“Fine. I will.” Mycroft relented, and not a second after that John was standing up, getting ready to leave again. “Have a nice day.” He called, maybe sarcastically, maybe out of habit. They were both incredibly glad to get out of each other’s hair again.

 

The living room door of the Holmes family house opened, and Sherlock who had his back towards it on the couch didn’t turn at first. “The two of us ought to talk.” His brothers articulated voice cut the silence and instantly, Sherlock jumped up in a tangle of blankets without looking at his brother and made a run for the terrace door.

“Don’t be childish, Sherlock.” Mycroft scolded in a bored fashion while Sherlock fumbled with the handle. “I know you’re avoiding me. Can you at least listen to what I’m trying to say? John tracked me down this morning.”

At that, Sherlock froze. He still didn’t turn, his hair ruffled and pyjamas dishevelled, but it was a small win for Mycroft.

“He told me to give you a chance, and not to assume I know you better. He means well, but believe it or not, so do I.”

Sherlock snorted.

“I mean it, Sherlock.”

“Do you now?” Spinning around, Sherlock had a hard time keeping all the spite he was feeling from his face.

“If that means I have to put up with this bullshit, maybe not after all. What, you decide you’re asexual and I’m not allowed to have an opinion any more?”

Sherock’s jaws clenched. “By all means, _think_ all you want, but keep the disrespect to yourself next time, how about it? And I didn’t _decide_ I’m asexual. That’s who I’ve been all along.”

“Have you stopped to think that maybe you simply haven’t found the right person yet?” Mycroft interrupted, and Sherlock wasn’t sure whether he’d rather bash his own or his brother’s head into the nearest wall.

“Spare me with that shit! I don’t feel attracted to anyone, that’s not so hard to understand, is it? Because you’re my brother I thought I could tell you, but I take it back. Fuck you.” Sherlock turned, opened the terrace door and walked away.

Mycroft stood frozen and swore under his breath. He had to go after him, didn’t he? No matter how undignified that would be.

He grabbed a coat and got ready to follow his brother, when Sherlock ripped the terrace door open again staring in with a frightening sort of cold anger in his eyes. “And I wasn’t the one making a scene. You’re the one who raised his voice and had to get back into this pointless discussion.”

“You’re right.” Mycroft admitted cautiously, advancing as if he was confronted with a dangerous animal, “This is all new to me. I don’t share John’s background.”

“That’s your excuse for acting like a prick?” Sherlock spat, repelled by his brother’s changed softer manner.

“I don’t have an excuse. Can you let me try again nonetheless?”

To that, Sherlock didn’t have an answer. He stood still and unconvinced, not letting Mycroft out of his sight.

“What you’re saying makes sense, what John said as well. I’m not god, Sherlock. I never meant for my reactions to be harmful in the slightest. This is just something I have to wrap my head around.”

Sherlock’s eyes had softened, and he pushed his chin forwards. “Thanks.”

For some reason, it didn’t feel like a compromise to either of them. It was a small step forwards that told Sherlock that coming out hadn’t been a mistake after all, because there was something left to learn even for conceited genius siblings. “You’re still you?” Mycroft asked warily.

“Yes. Even more so.” Whilst saying that, Sherlock understood pride. A part of him felt liberated.

“What a fucking tragedy.” Mycroft joked and cracked a smile.

And maybe the whole world didn’t know him yet, but it seemed to Sherlock like it was balanced again at least.

 

“Did he say he was sorry?” John inquired, leaning back in his chair in 221B.

“He said he’d try again and wrap his head around it. For Mycroft, that’s a concession as big as two Towers of London stacked on top of each other.” Sherlock answered, his head thrown back on the couch.

As a reply, John exhaled loudly. “I had a really tough time not beating him up on the spot. It’s disappointing how such an apparently smart person can say such _bullshit_.”

“We expanded his very limited horizon. That should count as a small win.” Sherlock deadpanned.

After a moment of mutual silence, John asked: “Are you going to tell your parents?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. Unlike Mycroft, I think they’ve taken the hint across the years. We’ve had enough awkward talks about grandchildren and future spouses for them to not expect anything the like from me. They may not know the terminology, but I think they get the situation well enough.” Seeing Sherlock at ease again made John relax as well. “I told Molly, too.” Sherlock went on, “She was a little shocked at first, and then she said it explains a lot. She seemed fine with it, even relieved. When I told Irene, she promised me a black-grey-white-and-purple cake and invited me to join her at the next St. Patrick’s Day Parade.”

John sighed, “Of course she did. But wow, you’ve kept busy!”

As a reply, Sherlock shrugged. “I didn’t tell anyone for such a long time, so I figured why wait any longer? And so far, there’s no remorse.”

“Good. Coming out isn’t something that should involve remorse.” John smiled at his friend. Then he asked, half jokingly: “You’re going to that parade?”

“ _Only if you come too._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this are based on personal experience, but if you're not out yourself yet, please know that that's completely fine too. Never feel pressured to do anything you're not comfortable with! If you have questions or are looking for an aroace-mom™ I'm here for you. I hope you enjoyed the story!


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